Gwellia nudged me sharply. ‘Nothing serious. But he should get back to her. Maximus, you can take a brand and escort him up the path.’ Junio’s roundhouse enclosure was very close to ours.
My son turned at the doorway. ‘Shall I come with you tomorrow, father, when you go into town? It seems to me that you could do with my support?’
‘If you would like to and if Cilla’s well enough,’ I said. It was as close to begging as dignity allowed. ‘There are several things that you could do for me.’
And he was gone, with Maximus holding a torch to light his way. Minimus murmured a blessing and withdrew, leaving my gentle wife and I alone. The evening rituals of the household seemed precious suddenly.
I helped her with the fire, raked the ashes over the clay pot in one half of it, so that the bread would cook in the embers overnight, and banked the other half with slower-burning logs, not only to warm the roundhouse, but to ensure that we still had a means of cooking when the morning came. Then I lay down on the bed that Minimus had prepared and Gwellia drew the covers over me, settled down beside me and blew the tapers out. A moment later her soft breathing told me she was fast asleep.
I was grateful for the comfort of her sleeping form, but I could not rest. My mind was too full of the worries of the day and fears about the morrow. It was not just the murders – though, Jove knew, they were sufficient problems in themselves – but there were little questions which niggled at my brain. That writing tablet for example, and the way that Livia and Redux had both been shocked by it. Livia’s astonishment was explicable enough, but could I really believe that Redux had merely been anxious for his friend? Antoninus had clearly possessed that writing block – he’d used the thing to send a note to me. Had Zythos bribed him with it, in exchange for silence over some misdeed? Was it about that statue, that it worried Redux so? I was sure the information was in that writing block, but for the life of me I could not work out what it was. And my future might depend on it.
In the end I got up quietly, so as not to wake my wife, and groped my way to where Maximus had folded up my clothes. I fumbled in the pouch and found the writing block. The ivory of the cover glimmered at me in the dark, and when I opened it I could just make out the paler colour of the wax. Of course, the new wax which had replaced the thin and damaged piece! Why had I not thought of that before?
I hurried over to the glow that was the hearth, and lit a taper from the burning wood, shielding it by placing it inside a wooden bowl, so that its light did not disturb the house. Then I placed the trivet on the hottest section of the fire, and carefully balanced the open writing tablet on the rim of it.
I was so excited by my new idea that I was not alert, until a voice behind me made me whirl around. ‘Master!’ Minimus was standing in the entrance, watching me. ‘What are you doing?’ He padded towards me, rubbing bleary eyes and I saw that he was tousle-headed and barefoot, with only his thin under-tunic on. ‘Are you trying to destroy that lovely thing?’
I shook my head, and placed a finger on my lips. ‘The cover is ivory, it will take no harm. And if I am careful, I will not scorch the wood. But see, the wax is already softening and I will be able to lift it from the frame.’ I took it carefully from the trivet as I spoke, burning my fingers a little with the heat. My method had been more effective than I hoped, and the wax was dripping of its own accord. I took up a knife and helped it on its way, then lifted the taper to look closely at the wooden backing frame. ‘Just as I thought. There are scratches visible. But in this light, it is impossible to see.’
Minimus grinned impishly at me. He kept his voice low, just as I had done. ‘If you rubbed it with black dust from the fire, it would get into the grooves and show the marks up more.’
He suited the action to the word and I saw that he was right. There were a lot of scratches, and at first it seemed a maze – fragments of numbers and disconnected words, each new message obscuring the one underneath. But when I risked a second taper and rubbed in more black dust, it was possible to convince myself that I could make out words.
‘“A S tomorrow”,’ I read aloud, ‘then something undecipherable, then the words “usual ajar”.’
Was that what it said? I stared at it. It made no kind of sense. It sounded like an invitation to a robbery. The statue possibly? That sounded plausible. And could the AS stand for Antoninus, in that case? Antoninus Seulonius – wasn’t that what Marcus had called him long ago?
‘Well done, Minimus,’ I murmured, and he preened.
He whispered back, ‘It’s something we used to do – Maximus and I – when we were small and wanted to pass messages between ourselves without the chief slave finding out. Just a piece of wood and a nail to scratch it with. Silly really, but we were not allowed to talk and we had to spend hours waiting to be called.’ He looked anxiously at me. ‘Have I atoned for dropping off to sleep?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said with a laugh. ‘But now go back to bed or you’ll be doing it again.’ I reached out and rubbed his tousled hair. ‘And I’ve enough troubles without that, Jove knows. You gave me quite a shock.’
He nodded ruefully and padded off. But it was true, I thought, as I blew the candles out and went back to lie down on my own bed again. For a dreadful moment, while he was slumped like that, I had seriously feared that he was dead. Perhaps it was because my mind was full of poisoning. Or he had reminded me of Antoninus at his desk. There had been something very similar. Almost as if he were . . .
‘I wonder!’ I murmured to myself, recalling something that Redux had remarked. Well, that would have to wait until tomorrow too. And feeling that at least I had a path to follow now, I closed my eyes at last.
I woke to find Gwellia shaking me and thrusting a glass of water into my hand.
‘Wake up, husband. The carriage is here. Junio is waiting and it’s time to go. I’ll cut a piece of bread and cheese for you, and you can eat it on the way. Minimus will help you to put your toga on. I’ve given him the money for the carriage fare, but if you want any extra you’ll have to get it from the shop, because until I sell some eggs and cloth, that’s all the cash we have.’ Her voice trembled – just a little. ‘Send the boy home to let me know what happens, husband. And good luck!’
She kissed me as the boy deftly wrapped my toga round my form. Five minutes later, we were on our way.
Twenty-One
Redux was waiting for me at the city gates. He grinned at my evident surprise.
‘You weren’t expecting me? I said I would assist you, since it concerns me now.’ He was wearing a different tunic today, I noticed – this one had red and gold embroidered hems and he had topped off his toga with a Grecian coat to match, though he had plain, comfortable sandals on his feet. He fell into step beside us, and looked at Junio.
‘Junio, this is Redux,’ I explained. ‘Redux, meet my son. It’s kind of you to offer to assist, of course, but he’ll help me from now on.’
‘I already have.’ Redux was not to be deterred. ‘I went to see Gracchus, when you left last night. I have my suspicions, as I think I said, that he was one of Antoninus’s “special” customers. I thought it would be interesting to know what he got up to when his wedding was postponed.’
‘And what did you find out?’
He made a little face. ‘Proof that he couldn’t have killed Antoninus yesterday. When the wedding was cancelled he did not go home, except to take his wedding garments off, it appears. He went off with his friends and tried to drown his woes. He was in a tavern all the afternoon, betting on the dice – and there are half a dozen others who will swear to that.’
‘And have you tracked these people down, to check?’ It was Junio who asked.
Redux looked at him with a mixture of surprise and reluctant admiration on his face. ‘I spoke to two of them. They both told me the same. And so did the tavern keeper when I found the place. And I don’t think he’s mistaken: Gracchus couldn’t pay – lost too much on the game, so the fellow says – and there
’s a tally of what’s owing scratched up on the wall. So Gracchus is accounted for.’
‘All the same,’ I said. ‘I’d like to speak to him. If you are serious in your desire to help, you could go and find him now. Ask him to meet me at Honorius’s house, in . . . let me see –’ I did a little calculation in my head, allowing time to get to the garrison by noon – ‘in perhaps an hour if he has a water clock, or in any case before the sun is halfway overhead. I think he’ll come, since he’s employing me.’ Redux looked affronted and I added with a smile. ‘You can come with him, and repeat what you’ve just said. It might serve to alter Helena Domna’s mind about his suitability as a match for Pompeia. I don’t think she approves of drunkenness and dice.’
‘In an hour then.’ Redux nodded and set off down the street, skirting the rubbish on the pavement with fastidious care.
‘So that is Redux,’ Junio said. ‘Intelligent, at least. And he must be wealthy, too. He must have spent a fortune on that red Grecian coat – though it’s a fashion more suitable for women I’d have thought. You can understand what his friend Zythos might have seen in him. But Zythos isn’t here, so I wonder who he is trying to impress. The commander possibly?’
I had a horrid suspicion that it might be me, but I suppressed the thought. ‘You seemed to doubt his story about Gracchus though?’
Junio looked thoughtful and then shook his head. ‘On the whole, I think it must be true. After all, a tavern is a public place, and if Gracchus spent time there, there will be witnesses. There’s no point in either of them lying about that. Besides, from what you told me yesterday, Redux may know the tavern keeper fairly well himself. Didn’t you say that he was fond of wine?’
‘That’s why I sent him to Gracchus’s again. I want you to go and see Vinerius and his wife. Tell them the same thing – that they are wanted at Honorius’s house, but let them think it’s Livia who has summoned them. I doubt that Vinerius would deign to come, if it was only me. Oh, and ask Maesta to bring her cures with her – anything that she’s provided to the womenfolk before.’
‘Where do I find Vinerius’s wine shop?’ he enquired. I gave him directions and he hurried off.
‘And me, master?’ Minimus piped up. He had been very quiet up to now.
‘You and I will go directly to the house. The back door for preference. I don’t want to be caught up in streams of visitors, coming to pay homage to the corpse – and I suppose that they’ll be lining up by now.’
They were, too. All the senior councillors that I’d seen yesterday, and a good few that I hadn’t: magistrates and senior tradesmen from the town, even the clerks from the basilica, all of them waiting to pay traditional respects. They would be shown in, I knew, to spend a few moments with the corpse – a few would utter a token wail or two – and then they would be ushered out and given fruit and wine, while another visitor would come and take their place. Not many of the waiting crowd were bearing gifts, I saw, though that was not uncommon when a wealthy man had died. This time however, there was no one to ‘impress’ (as Junio might have put it) since there were only females remaining in the family – and there are no business or political favours to be had from them.
There were so many waiting that a queue had formed, and a street musician was walking up and down, trying to earn a few brass coins by entertaining them. His raucous singing was an affront to the dead, and very soon a slave came out to order him away. It was the lugubrious doorkeeper of the day before.
I pulled Minimus quickly out of sight. ‘I don’t want him to see us. We’ll try the other way – in through the stables and the kitchen, if we can.’
It was not as easy as I had hoped that it would be. The stable hand was very loath to let me pass. ‘I am responsible for guarding the back gate, and this is no place for strangers. Especially after what happened yesterday. It is more than my life is worth to let you through.’
I sighed. I should have thought to take my toga off – with just a tunic I might have been taken for a slave – but just as I thought that we’d be turned away, the steward from the house came bustling in.
‘We need a bale of straw to strew outside the gate and muffle . . .’ he began. Then he caught sight of us. ‘Citizen! What are you doing here again? The queue for mourners is around the front.’
‘And I don’t want to join it, for the moment anyway. I’d hoped to speak to Pompeia, if she’s awake again. I tried to come this way to avoid the crowds,’ I said. He looked uncertain, so I tried flattery. ‘This stable slave is rightly dubious, but I know that you are able to vouch for who I am.’
It worked. The steward smiled, and obviously decided to postpone his present task. ‘Follow me then, citizen. And your servant too – unless he would rather go and wait upstairs?’
Minimus caught my eye and fiercely shook his head.
‘I will take him with me. We shan’t be very long,’ I said, rewarding him for his useful trick with wax the night before. Though if he had been Junio, I thought, he would have seized the chance to go upstairs and hear the servants talk, but as it was he simply tailed along. The steward led us past the kitchen block, and through the back gate into the courtyard garden of the house.
He skirted past a massive stone Neptune with a trident, and stopped outside the room I’d been to yesterday. The bar was back across the door again. ‘This has been turned into Pompeia’s room,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find her in.’ He tapped discreetly on the door, removed the bar and opened it a crack.
Pompeia was sitting on the bed. She was no longer in her wedding finery, but in a dark-coloured stola which quite suited her. When she saw the steward her face lit up at once. ‘Pentius . . .’ she murmured, then realized we were there. The smile vanished instantly and she was plain again.
‘Lady, this citizen would like a word with you.’ His manner was perfectly correct, but I noticed that he had turned rather pink around the ears. ‘May I show him in? And do you require a maid as chaperone, or will his manservant suffice?’
‘Oh, let him in alone. What difference does it make? I couldn’t be in more disgrace than I already am.’ He obeyed her, and shut the door again. She turned to me. ‘You know they’ve locked me in? They wouldn’t even let me join in the lament without a pair of slaves to keep an eye on me. On Helena Domna’s orders, naturally!’ She did not look tragic or emotionally distressed – she looked and sounded simply murderous.
‘That does sound unreasonable,’ I said placidly. ‘Does she still believe that you caused your father’s death?’
She glowered. ‘She claims that I would try to run away.’
‘And would you? Even if you could not have taken all your things with you?’ I gestured to a little stack of wooden crates, clearly packed ready for her new home yesterday, but now brought back into this house again. A pile of stolas had been half-pulled out of one, presumably in search of the mourning clothes she wore.
My question surprised her into a small smile. ‘I suppose I might have done, since no other method works.’ The smile faded. ‘You know she’s going to make me marry Gracchus after all? I wish I’d taken poison like . . .’ she tailed off, confused.
‘Like your father?’ I was momentarily startled by the thought, but her bitter laugh convinced me that my guess was wrong. Suddenly I remembered what Maesta had confessed. ‘Or like the convicted criminals that avoided worse, by drinking hemlock of their own accord?’
‘Ah! The convicted criminals . . . of course. That is what I meant.’
But it wasn’t. I could read it in her face. I searched my mind, and suddenly things settled into place – like pieces of mosaic that make a pattern suddenly. ‘It was your mother, wasn’t it? She was so unhappy she committed suicide. How did she manage it?’ But even as I asked, I knew what it must be. ‘She took some of the poison that your father had – for those convicted criminals – and swallowed it herself?’
She didn’t answer but she scarcely needed to. It was clear from the expression on her face that I w
as right.
‘I should have realized that it was something of the kind. Maesta said that one of the victims hadn’t died at once, but that the dose should have been strong enough to kill an ox. She had an explanation which I doubted at the time. But of course, the poor wretch didn’t get the full amount. Your mother had abstracted some of it. Maesta actually told me that she’d died soon afterwards.’
‘She did not mean to make him suffer,’ Pompeia said. She had screwed her two hands tightly into fists and was staring down at them, as though she was physically holding on to her self-control. ‘My mother never intended to be cruel.’
‘Then tell me. Make me understand.’ I sat down, without permission, on the stool that Maesta had used.
‘I suppose I might as well, since you know anyway . . .’ She let her hands relax and moved her gaze to me. ‘It was clear that the doses were very strong indeed – because too little hemlock may not kill at once. They were to be distributed on successive days. My father came back and told us how the first two men had died, and how they had not even finished what had been poured for them. When my mother learned that, it gave her a way out. She had these phials of so-called love potions – she emptied one of them, and put the poison in, and topped the criminal’s container up again – probably with the other philtre she had saved. It should have been enough to kill him anyway. She only drank a mouthful and she died within the hour. It was just that the last criminal must have been a giant.’
I stared at her. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘She left a letter, for Honoria and I. We found it in our clothes chest after she had gone, with the remainder of the poison phial. In case we needed to escape ourselves, she said. Of course we didn’t realize how bad things had become. And naturally it was never mentioned at the funeral, or anywhere else as far as I’m aware – my father simply told us that she’d died.’
‘But you think he knew that she had killed herself?’
Death at Pompeia's Wedding Page 18
